


A New Way to Bleed

by VirtualKibou



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2019-08-03 18:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16331444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VirtualKibou/pseuds/VirtualKibou
Summary: In a world gone astray, Porter will make a single decision that changes everything.





	A New Way to Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> An older one-shot I wrote in 2017, very loosely based off the song "A New Way to Bleed" by Evanescence.

_I don't want to do this._

Porter pressed his shaky fingers against the sides of the blade as more tears began to roll down his cheeks. Cool and smooth to the touch, the metal, in the brightness of his room, seemed to shimmer, every inch that was left uncovered acting as a reflective surface. However, no amount of light could wash away the darkness inside of him, and as he sat upright in bed with the knife, what little happiness he'd had was only further consumed by overwhelming feelings of sadness, guilt, and self-fury.

For the last few weeks, he had been dealing with such emotions every waking second, and he'd kept trying to justify his plans in hopes that they'd go away.  _It's not about you – you're doing this for him,_  he continued to tell himself.  _If you were to get into a situation like his, you'd want the same thing from your friend. Nobody should have to live in the condition he's in now; it's inhumane._

Shards of memories flashed across his mind – ones from the day he'd first met his friend, to the circumstances that had caused them to meet more frequently, all the way up to the accident that had taken everything from them both. They pained him unimaginably...especially since he knew that, soon enough, he'd never make any more, as he wouldn't ever meet anyone quite like him ever again. With that knowledge, he almost didn't want to go through with it.

_No. You will go through with this. Stop being selfish and think of him._

Porter stood up shakily, the weapon still in his hands, then he made his way over to his room's door. After looking through its peephole and seeing nobody on the other side, he slowly turned the knob and stepped into the halls for the first time that day, making sure to hide the knife in the double pockets of his hoodie.

* * *

 There weren't many people moving around the building that morning – a normal sight, but one that made Porter feel even lonelier nevertheless. He knew the others either had already gone to work or were still sound asleep, though as he walked, he wished he had someone to accompany him; in the weeks since the accident, he'd been on his own, not speaking to anyone except scientists and a handful of forceful visitors, and only a few of them had been considerate.

Shortly after first walking out, he passed by a hall mirror and briefly stopped to look at himself. His hair was a mess, knotted and tousled from a depression-induced lack of care, and his face glistened with countless teardrops. He didn't spend too long there, though – after a few moments, he pressed his wrist up to his eyes and wiped away some of the saltwater, then he continued on his way.

All the while still, he could not help but think of the one he was going to kill.

* * *

 Porter reached his destination some minutes later.

A transparent glass door stood before him, reaching all the way up to the low ceiling of the building, and he knew that beyond it was where it all would end. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small plastic card, then he swiped it against the lock, an electronic scanner built into the right wall. There was a high-pitched beep, and the door swung open; he proceeded to walk in slowly afterward as he put the card back into his pocket.

The interior of the room was stark white and very bright, and Porter squinted as his eyes adjusted to its appearance. Soon enough, though, they had done just that, and – now able to see his surroundings fine – he pulled out the knife.

All he had to do now was find his friend.

He began to repeatedly do visual scans of the room, looking for any sign of life, but all he could find were gurneys, mirrors, and tables packed with powered-off computers. The people who worked in this lab evidently hadn't arrived yet, or they were busy doing something else, but he knew they could return at any time.  _If they come back while I'm holding a goddamn knife–_

"...Porter?" came a small voice from behind.

Even before whirling around, he knew exactly who the speaker was.

* * *

 Before he faced the other direction, Porter made sure to quickly shove the knife back into his hoodie pockets – the best move given who'd been talking.

Standing a few meters away was a young-looking boy whose bright eyes were wide with what appeared to be shock. His dark brown hair was unnaturally well-kempt, as though it was unable to get messy, and he wore a jet-black jacket above a shirt as white as the room. Both arms were down by his sides, and his fists were clenched; it was obvious that he was tensed up.

It was nobody other than Porter's friend.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in a tone of surprise.

Porter sighed and closed his eyes, already beginning to cry again. "I...I just wanted to see you again."

His friend blinked. "I understand," he said. "We haven't spoken a lot since...the accident, after all."

"Yeah..."

"I'm still here, though. If you ever want to talk to me, I'll be there. I may not be the person I once was, but I'm still me, don't worry." The boy tilted his head, shut his eyes, and grinned slightly.

His optimism terrified Porter. Even after everything that had happened to him, he was still so cheerful and kind...or was he? Deep down, he must have been hurting, and smiling must have been painful...

"I...need to tell you something," Porter told him. "Can you come over here for a second...?"

His friend looked at him, then he nodded and began to walk over, oblivious to what was soon to happen. Seconds later, he was within touching distance, and he looked into the other's eyes. "What is it?"

Porter opened his eyes and, after a pause, softly murmured, "I'm so, so sorry..."

"What are you sorry f–"

Before his friend could finish his question, Porter jammed the knife into his chest with as much force as humanly possible.

"...but I have to."

* * *

 The boy stumbled backward as the handle was yanked out, then he fell to his knees and sideways onto the floor. " _Porter!_ " he cried out as he began to twitch.

Somewhere in his mind, Porter began to recall what he'd read in the manual for his friend's android model: if an inflicted "injury" on its body was severe enough, it would result in the permanent shut-down of the machine. The average time lapsed from the initial attack to its last computation: approximately 18.12 seconds. What he'd done was, in short, bloodless murder.

"I won't forget you, ever," he told the dying android.

An agonized, robotic shriek filled the room as his friend's twitching turned into thrashing, and Porter knew that someone would arrive soon and see the scene. From there, they'd likely dispose of the damaged machinery like garbage, take out the circuits containing the boy's digitized consciousness and store them in a protected location, maybe transfer them to another body one day...but the last one was highly unlikely to happen. The world simply didn't value life like it used to; why would they exempt one "soul" from that?

The shrieking and thrashing continued for what seemed like minutes, jarring Porter's very soul...then it stopped in an instant.

And with the silence, he knew that his friend was really, truly gone.

Porter dropped to his knees and pressed a hand against the area where the knife blade had pierced the android body. He felt the tips of wires, the heated metal interior, the smooth but now lifeless circuitry that had kept his friend alive in this state for the last several weeks, and he began to cry once more.

_I...I did it._

_Oh my god, did I really do this?_

From somewhere outside the room, Porter heard frantic voices begin to surface – the shrieks had alerted others of the situation. It was far too late to escape now, to get off scot-free, but he didn't pay mind to the fact.

_They can come and get me, but they'll never understand why I did what I did._

Cradling his friend's head in both hands, he bent forward and let his tears fall onto their lifeless face...

...then, as the doors were forced open, he uttered two last words:

"Goodbye, Hugo."


End file.
